Almost
by MintSauce
Summary: Mickey's had a lot of almosts in his life and if he wants one thing for sure, can you really blame him? Ian/Mickey. Found this that I'd done a while ago.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Anything in bold in this fic is something Mickey has put a line through when writing. It won't let me do that on here, so bold will have to do :)**

Mickey almost died. And when Mickey almost died, he decided that he was done not really living at all. He had spent all of his time only _almost_ living. He'd been too scared of dying to admit that he wanted anything out of his life, but Mickey had been there now, he'd almost died – he felt like the almosts were important here – and he didn't think it was so fucking bad. At least the next time it happened, or almost happened, he'd actually like to be able to think that he'd done some of the things he'd wanted to do.

There was only really one thing he could think of doing though, one thing that he'd almost done so many times, but always backed out of.

Mickey didn't care how gay or how stupid it was, he wanted to do that whole in love thing, he wanted to be someone's everything, because he almost had been once. And that had felt pretty good, it had almost been more than he'd thought he was capable of handling. Especially since he actually felt shit back.

Typically, Mickey had felt his heart start to beat for someone other than himself and he'd bolted, hoping that it wouldn't do that again. It still did. Still for the same person, who hopefully still have that shit eating grin and those freckles and that red hair. Hopefully, he also wasn't fucking dead since he was in a warzone and all that.

And since Mickey was in the mood to be fucking gay, he copied down the address he knew was scribbled down in the back of his sister's diary, which was hidden in her underwear drawer, because she thought Mickey was too scared of girl's underwear to go in there. They grossed him out, but he wasn't scared of them.

He'd like to say that the lots of lovely, fucking gay words sprung to mind and that he found a lovely nice, crisp piece of paper to write said words on. He'd like to have thought his handwriting was beautiful and that it was the best piece of work he'd ever done.

Except he scribbled it down on a page torn from a book that only had words printed on one side of the last page. He didn't know what the page was, he didn't particularly care. And his handwriting was horrible, because Mickey didn't write often, he didn't like to. His writing was messy and barely even fucking legible to anybody but him no doubt, but it wasn't like he could change that. He had to change pens half way through when the first one ran out, so the colour switched from black to blue. And as for the words, well they weren't exactly sweet or lovely either; but it was still the best piece of work that Mickey had ever done.

_One, you better not be fucking dead, cause I don't like writing shit for no reason. And two, if you even think for a fucking second that this makes me all camp and gay and shit, it __**don't**__ doesn't. I __**kind of may**__**be**__ miss you and I don't think it's just cause you're a good fuck or something__**, **__**cause I kinda miss the fact you fucking talk more than is good for you. **__ Um, so I can't get you out of my fucking head and I think that probably means I love you or something, r__ight? But yeah, you better come the fuck back to Chicago, cause if you die I'll fucking kill __**myself**____you myself. _

_Mickey._

He figured that said it all really, even if he had crossed some bits out and accidentally written some things he didn't mean to write, but he'd corrected those so that was alright. He stuffed it inside an envelope, wrote the address as clear as he could and ran to post it before he could lose his fucking nerve.

And then he couldn't change it, could he?

He didn't know why telling the truth seemed more scary than almost dying, but it did. He didn't know how that made sense. He didn't particularly want to, actually.


	2. Chapter 2

_Mickey,_

_Why the hell are you saying that now? What did you do? You're an idiot Mickey and I'm not fucking dead yet, but I'll kill you if you're back inside by the time I come back to Chicago. I will come back, I promise. Well, if I don't get my head shot off or something, but oddly enough, I'm trying to avoid that. _

_ It's sort of boring here, it's monotonous. You'd probably like this guy in my platoon, he's call Rex, but I don't know if that's actually the name he was born with, I don't think anybody does. He loves Jell-O and he swears a lot, but he's a nice guy really once you get past all the bullshit. Actually, maybe you wouldn't like him, he's a lot like you. I don't think you'd like someone who's like you. _

_ You'd hate it in the army, all the rules and all the regulations and everything you HAVE to do. Sometimes I think I can hear you in my head or something, I think I can hear the comments you'd make to people and I think you'd probably do something fucking stupid like just run at the fuckers shooting at us rather than ducking down and hiding. But then, no offense or anything, but you are sort of a crazy shit sometimes. It's annoying that I can't get you out of my head, even though I tried. I thought I was just a wet mouth anyway? Why the fuck did you wait this long to add to that statement, well add to probably isn't the right word, it's more like a change of what you said. Does that make sense? I don't know how well this is translating from my head. _

_ Either way, what the fuck happened to make you change your mind? I know you did something, don't even try to deny it! What did you do? And by the way, if you don't tell me, I'll just ask Mandy and then it'll be worse for you because she'll know you mailed me. So what did you do?_

_Ian._

_Ps. The fact I still give a shit probably means I love you too, right? _


	3. Chapter 3

_Firecrotch, what the fuck would I care to know all that crap for? You're just taking up fucking paper writing so many words and you know I don't read! No shit that I'd hate the army, if I wanted to be told what I could and couldn't do and get shot for some bullshit reason I'd go back to inside or shoplift from the Kash and Grab again. Besides, it's better to fucking run at them than wait for them to shoot you in the back of the fucking skull. And fucking go ahead and tell Mandy, see if I give a shit. You'll be the one to fucking blame when she kills me for going in her fucking diary to get this bloody address. And I didn't do anything, not really. Some fucker just tried to run me over and I maybe almost died. Fuck it actually, I almost died. It was sorta a new thing for me, it was bullshit, I wouldn't try it. And you know I'm too fucking amazing to forget. What the fuck does monotonous mean anyway?_

_Don't get your ass shot off. – Mickey._


	4. Chapter 4

_Hey Milkovich, ever heard of paragraphs? _

_ They're useful. They do this thing where they help you read and make sense of the fucking sentences in front of you. Also, where the hell are you getting this paper from? There's Shakespeare on the back! _

_ Is Kash back at the Kash and Grab then, or is Linda still running it? I bet they miss me there, was the best thing that ever happened to the place. _

_ I told Rex about that time you stabbed a guy over Jell-O, the first time you were in Juvie, remember? He says you had the right idea. The guy gets real defensive over his Jell-O, kind of like you. His family actually sends him the stuff, I think he'd go mad without it. Then again, I think we're all sort of going mad. You can hear some people crying in their sleep sometimes, but we all pretend that we don't. It's sort of easier to pretend sometimes. _

_ There's this guy, Trey, he hums in his sleep. I think you probably would have punched him by now, it can get sort of annoying. Everyone has their own weird things that they do, like Rex with his Jell-O and Trey with the humming. I don't know if it shows we're sane still, or if it shows we're slowing going insane. I don't think I want to know. I wonder what the thing I do is, I don't think I do anything that's weird. Maybe it's the fact I have red hair, but that's not really something anybody can blame me for, it's the whole genes thing you know. They keep calling me Ginger, but that just reminds me of the time I went to the gay clubs and got called that and I don't know why, but I don't like the comparison, it makes me wish they wouldn't call it me. _

_ I guess my thing could be that I always have the most letters. I get one off everyone pretty frequently, Carl always sends his on post-it notes and it's usually just to say, 'hope you're not dead, life's a bitch, love you, Carl'._

_ And you better not be send back inside Mickey, I'm serious! Third time is not the charm, no matter what anyone says._

_ And. . . what else was I going to say? Oh yeah, WHY THE FUCK DID YOU GET HIT WITH A TRUCK?! Who did you piss off? And are you okay? I think the fact you can steal Mandy's diary means you're alright, but saying you almost fucking died doesn't really make me feel all happy inside. You can't just trivialise things like that Mickey! _

_ Why the hell didn't Mandy tell me you got hit by a truck? That's the sort of thing she's supposed to tell me! _

_ And get a dictionary if you really care that much about what monotonous means, a little more reading won't kill you._

_Love, Ian._


	5. Chapter 5

_Gallagher,_

_If I wanted a lecture on paragraphs, I'd go back to school! So stop being a fucking dick and shut the fuck up about them. The day I give a flying fuck about grammar is probably when you stop fucking talking. Seriously Gallagher, you're killing me with all these words! _

_ (Hey look it's a paragraph, happy now?) Why the fuck are you talking about me to people? They don't give a shit, it's a waste of words. And for your fucking information, I didn't piss anyone off, the fucking driver ran a red light and thought I was a traffic cone or some shit. I only hit my head and broke my leg anyway, it wasn't even that bad. I just didn't wake up when they thought I would and they all started panicking or some shit about how it would be a miracle if I lived. I don't know, I wasn't fucking awake then and I didn't listen afterwards. _

_When the fuck you coming back anyway? – Mickey._


	6. Chapter 6

_Mickey,_

_Six months, then I should be back. It depends. _

_ And could you have made your explanation any fucking simpler? Mandy says you had severe swelling in your brain and were in critical condition for two weeks. She also says that it really was a miracle you survived, I think it probably just knocked some sense into you. And she didn't tell me because she didn't think I'd care and she didn't know how to cope with putting it down on paper. _

_ How the hell would you know people wouldn't care anyway? I talk about you because I want to, because you're an interesting topic of conversation, for no reason at all. Why the hell do I need a reason anyway? _

_ Don't think you're getting off with this only being a short letter, but I kind of have to start moving. I promise I won't die, or at least I'll try, but we're heading into the dangerous (more dangerous) part so I probably shouldn't promise that. _

_ Try not to get hit by any more cars. I don't want to come home and have to go to your funeral. _

_Love, Ian._


	7. Chapter 7

_Firecrotch, it sounds worse than it was. I have a scar on my head that looks pretty cool though. Come home, I'll show you._

_Mickey._


	8. Chapter 8

_Mickey, _

_Rex died today. Roadside bomb. I miss you, I wish you were here. That's a lie, I wish I was there with you. I love you._

_Ian._


	9. Chapter 9

_Firecrotch, _

_**I wish I was there too.**____**I miss you too**__**. **__**I'm**____**I'm sorry.**____**Fuck these words seriously, it should not be this difficult**__**. **__**You make saying I love you so easy, you're such a fucking prick like that.**_

_Come back alive Ian. Don't try and play the fucking hero._

_Mickey_


	10. Chapter 10

_Mickey,_

_They're sending us home early, because of Rex. Hopefully I'll beat this letter home. In case I don't, meet me at the airport, yeah? Or is that too gay for you? Either way, my plane gets in at seven pm. _

_I still miss you. Don't hit me when you see me, please._

_Love, Ian. _

_P.s. it's cute that you think I can't read what you put just because you put a line through it. You need to work on your scribbling. I can say I love you enough for the both of us, don't worry._


	11. Chapter 11

Mickey fidgeted about, checked his stolen watch again and again and chewed up the inside of his mouth before he could taste blood on his tongue. The cast had come off his leg and it itched like hell, kind of like when he'd gotten shot. That wound itched as well.

He noticed that there were a lot of women and children standing near him, so he figured that probably meant that he was in the right place. It kind of confirmed it when men in uniform started walking through to greet them.

He didn't know why he was so nervous, but he just couldn't stop fidgeting. Maybe he thought it would be different face to face, that it would all change and that he wouldn't know what to say. God forbid, what if Gallagher didn't know what the fuck to say.

Ian hadn't told his family he was coming home early, he'd worked that out when he'd run into Lip and he'd been all excited about Ian coming home in a few weeks. Mickey didn't know why that made him feel special, but he decided that he wasn't going to hate that feeling.

He yawned and rubbed his eyes, tired because he'd been up almost the entire previous night panicking about whether or not he should go to the airport, whether or not Ian could have changed his mind. He heard a child squeal off to his left and flinched, he hated that sound he decided. He almost bolted.

"You look like you're about to be sick."

Mickey jumped and almost hit the man standing next to him, scowling when he recognised the voice and the face and wondering how the hell he'd managed to be snuck up on. Ian grinned down at him, that smile so completely familiar and the same that it made Mickey's heart stutter inside of his chest.

"Fuck you," he muttered under his breath, because he wasn't good at words or feelings.

He didn't know how to deal with his whole situation.

Beside them someone laughed and a soldier with a small child hanging around his neck smiled at them. "This is your Mickey then?" he asked Ian, laugher still in his voice, "I thought he'd be taller."

Ian grabbed Mickey around the shoulders as he lunged for the guy he didn't know and he stopped, but only because the feel of Ian pressed up behind him was making every nerve in his body catch on fire.

"The fuck did I say about telling people about me, Gallagher, Jesus!" Mickey ground out, glaring at the guy who'd spoken and smirking at the startled look on his face, "This ain't some goddamn fairy tale!"

Behind him Ian laughed and when he found Mickey wasn't actually resisting anymore, nodded to his friend or whatever and started steering Mickey away, an arm slung over his shoulders lazily. Mickey let it rest there for just a few seconds before pulling away, because he was admitting to what he wanted, not announcing his sexuality to the world so he could get his head kicked in.

"Missed you too Mick," Ian told him, smiling and not seeming at all fazed by Ian pulling away from him.

Mickey rolled his eyes but swallowed down his initial impulse to swear at Gallagher over saying that, "I've told you, what's not to miss?" He found that he was oddly pleased with himself when Ian tipped his head back and laughed, loud and throatily. At least something hadn't changed.

"So what now?" Ian asked as they walked out of the airport.

Mickey smirked at him. "Now I'm going to blow you in the car and let you fuck me in the backseat before you make me drive you to go see the rest of your fucking family," he replied bluntly, "Or do you have anything else you'd rather be doing?"

And if Mickey gripped Ian's fingers back for a second when they rested over his on Ian's thigh whilst Mickey was down in the foot well of the car deep-throating the redhead, he'd pass it off as a muscle spasm. Or maybe he wouldn't, it would depend on whether or not Gallagher was stupid enough to fucking comment.


End file.
